


Wake Up (like this)

by InfiniteCalm



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: London, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smoking, brilliantine, em forster fans in da house, pure vanity, sometimes they're not even trying, they're not perfect, vignette style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22203931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfiniteCalm/pseuds/InfiniteCalm
Summary: Over a period of years, one appreciates how though the cracks may let the light in, that doesn't mean that they're always the easiest to deal with.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis
Comments: 24
Kudos: 90





	Wake Up (like this)

**Author's Note:**

> This is officially the shortest time ever between me publishing fics. I used to take literal years. Why has this movie infected my brain in this manner. It's been... months. This fic is not intended to be a very serious discussion of either character, or indeed their glaring and lovable flaws.
> 
> Title from ***Flawless, by Beyoncé. 
> 
> CW-smoking, mentions of world war i.

London, February 1928

Thomas is really very good at arguing with him. It’s ridiculous that they should spend their limited time talking on the phone- or, indeed, miracle of miracles, in the same room together- fighting like this, but then it would be too much to ask that they leave everything at their respective doors. Either Richard is hungry, or Thomas is tired or they’re both too vigilant to properly relax- sometimes, they’re bound get annoyed with each other. The first time, Richard was a little shocked at the vitriol Thomas was capable of, but Richard’s not exactly a Saint in that area himself. The important thing is that they don’t step too far over one another’s lines. The sublime thing there is that they know where those lines are, for the most part.

Miraculously they find a way to each other for a whole day, and then Richard takes exception to something small, and they're off to the races.

“You never have respected my politics, you just think that I’m some country oaf who doesn’t know what real issues are,” Thomas is saying now. “You move to London and suddenly you’re the expert in all things newsworthy, like you work for the Times or something, when you’re stuck in the same loop as I am.”

“Well, I’m just saying, I have read on this topic, Thomas, and perhaps I do know more than you on this,” Richard says, rolling his eyes, though perhaps too forcefully to convey his point.

“And how do you know what I’ve read?” Thomas says. “Anyway, books don’t tell you everything anyway, it’s not like you’re _in Rome,_ you don’t even know any Catholics, so don’t presume to lecture me on this, it’s not an endearing habit of yours.”

“Oh? How many Catholics do you know? Asides from the man you’re too snobbish to talk to, and a small child?”

“Hark who’s talking, calling me a snob, when you’re all monsieur this and Forster that-”

“I keep telling you, you’d _like_ A Room with a View if you just read it, instead of making fun of it! Stop persecuting me for liking Forster!”

Thomas scowls and opens his mouth to reply, but the mood is suddenly broken- it registers what exactly Richard has just said, and where their argument has ended up, and Thomas’ mouth twitches. But he can’t keep a straight face for long, and he unfolds his arms and opens them at his sides. Richard steps into the embrace warmly. Thomas’ hand is firm against the back of his head. He hopes Thomas can feel the smile he is pressing into his neck.

They usually get it out of their systems early. There’s plenty of time for other things.

Letter received in London, November 1928

_…_

_Your last letter, if I may be so bold (that is, I genuinely inquire- if it is too much, then by all means please inform me and be under no obligation to reply) seemed to suggest you were feeling the effects of the silence on November 11 th . I do believe that it was an excellent suggestion by your employer to hold these silences. The circumstances you describe in your letter, that there were several of your colleagues around you during the allotted time, sound helpful. It is sometimes good to share the burden of these events among ourselves, so as not to feel too keenly those old griefs which do, from time to time, tend to make themselves known. I daresay there is not a man nor woman who is unaffected by the War in all of England, and therefore not one among them is alone in their experiences. You must not count yourself unique in this regard. In fact, the men in our house who had the pleasure of serving King and Country were all glad of the time taken to commemorate the fallen, though we did wish we could be nearer to our loved ones. It is a heavy task without family to guide and support. Therefore, do not think ill of yourself for feeling the toll Armistice Day takes on us all._

_In lighter news, I am happy to tell you that the excursion to the nearby cinema undertaken by some of the old(er!) hands here at Downton Abbey was quite the success. Thirsk is not so far away as all that, and_

_…_

_Yours, affectionately,_

_T Barrow_

London, May 1929

Richard is bored by the kitchen maids talking about how long their morning routine takes.

“Wash, shave, tie your tie and out you go,” Byrne says to Sarah, who looks at him in mock horror and tells him he’ll never understand, oh men, they’re all the same, really.

Richard wants to say, Jesus, it’s not as if you’re Clara Bow, it’s not as if you do much more than he does. Makeup and jewellery are strictly forbidden, and they all know that. But he doesn’t want to bring attention to himself, so he says nothing. All people want to hear is that they have it hard, he thinks.

Two weeks later, Richard runs out of brilliantine and forgets to buy more. He won’t have a chance to get some for ages and _ages_ , he thinks, distressed, running a hand through his decidedly un-oily hair. He tries to think of someone he might be able to cadge off, but there’s nobody he’s close enough with to impose on them that much. All the servants who came up with him have left or don’t have much hair left to slick back (he tries not to feel _too_ self-congratulatory on that one- it’s not like he’s done anything to deserve it), and the younger ones guard their toilettes like mummies do their cursed treasure in Egyptian tombs. He might get away with one or two days’ worth, but not the week that he needs.

The first day, he asks Byrne, and that’s alright, but it’s clear that the favour will not be extended to a second morning. After that, it’s Jacobs, and then everyone finds out that Ellis is on the prowl for brilliantine, and that’s the end of the affair.

“Here,” Sarah says, kindly, offering him a big tub. He reads, with a leaden feeling in his chest, big friendly letters, spelling out the word _Vaseline_.

“Thanks,” He says, despondent, though trying not to show it. “This will do nicely.”

 _And now,_ he writes to Thomas, staring at the calendar which is still stubbornly saying he has 4 days to go until his next half-day, _there is petroleum jelly all over my dresser, on the mirror, on the taps- and, worst of all, on my head. I look like I have not bathed in months, and, pire encore, the style is dreadful. I feel I am years out of date, and woe betide me if I should get any on my clothes, as I am sure the effect would be deleterious. If you have any advice, please send it on post-haste._

_Your friend,_

_Richard Ellis._

Richard waits three days for a reply. It doesn’t usually take so long, and he’s beginning to worry (and wonder if the world would stop if his hair were not slicked back- at this stage foregoing the general style would be easier than dealing with the giant, unhelpful tub of Vaseline) when a parcel arrives during the afternoon.

The letter, which out of deference to politeness he opens first, is typically cryptic (there’s a line about being described as “oily” which he cannot work out- it’s not an innuendo, but he doesn’t think it’s an insult either) but also rather short.

 _Must dash_ , Thomas writes in a postscript _, the boiler’s about to go again, but we better find an uglier plumber or I’ll have damaged yet another marriage. Enclosed is the solution to the problem you seemed so upset about. Yours is truly a hard lot in life. Hopefully this will convince you that it’s not the end of the world._

Of course the parcel has already been opened. But they haven’t tampered with the contents. It’s a new bottle of brilliantine, with Thomas’ signature inked in very small on the back label. Richard uncaps it, inhales the unpleasant smell, and closes his eyes.

York, August 1931

“We can’t have gotten through that many cigarettes in one night, Thomas, that would be unreasonable.”

They are standing in the back garden in their dressing gowns, looking at the tin can Richard substituted for an ashtray. Richard has a bit of a sore head. They may have overdone it on the wine. It’s early morning now, but due to some trickery Thomas isn’t due back at Downton until noon.

“I have none left,” Thomas shrugs. “Well, I have two, but those are mine. So we smoked… about ten each.”

Richard wants to be disgusted with himself, but really all he feels is a distinct craving for a fried egg sandwich. He opens the back door leans against the frame.

“You wouldn’t let me scab another cig?”

Thomas folds his arms as his eyes crinkle in a supressed smile. The sun is already bright and warm, shining down on him in his pyjamas. Richard wants to reach out and take.

“No,” Thomas says, and Richard knows, despite all the promises they’ve made, and all the love that has filled his life with colour and light, that he will not share those last two cigarettes.

**Author's Note:**

> Clara Bow is the _original_ It Girl.  
> Brilliantine is a precursor to hair gel and sounds disgusting in all the important ways a hair product could be.
> 
> Come and talk/give out to me for being mean on [tumblr](https://meryton-etc.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
